Harry tried to focus on the jar of pickled snake hearts instead of the blood pouring out of Ron’s nose. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help sneaking glances over to his former-best-friend who now was so pale Harry was worried he was going to pass-out in Snape’s office.

“You should lean forward.” Harry muttered. Ron glowered and said nothing.  He had been staring steadfastly forward since the moment Snape had ordered them into his office.

Crawling worms had taken over Harry’s stomach’s again as he contemplated his situation. At this point he wasn’t even afraid of Snape. Nothing Snape could do to him could possibly be worse than what Harry himself had accomplished this week. 

He had yelled at Neville for talking too loudly to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, snapped at Ginny for bugging him about restarting the DA and rudely told Ernie to shut up when he had nervously started reciting details about plant care before their Herbology review session.

As if that hadn’t been enough, he had nearly made Hermione cry when he went off on her for asking how he was keeping up with his school-work. He had assumed that she was berating him again for not revising enough for his upcoming OWLs. Instead, she had merely been trying to offer him copies of her meticulously written notes. Ron had given Harry tongue-thrashing for that, which ended with Harry punching Ron in the nose in the middle of the Great Hall.

Which was why he was now sitting in Snape’s dungeon as Ron attempted to hold the blood in his nose with both his hands. Ron had put up with his surly attitude all week but, Harry could tell, punching him in front of half-the-school was the limit. He was going to be alone again, like all those years at Privet Drive, but this time it was his own fault.

The door swung open, pulling Harry out of his depression spiral. Snape stared down at both of them, a potion in his hand. Harry’s stomach flipped, at this moment he deeply missed Professor McGonagall.

Snape pointed his wand at Ron’s face. Ron closed his eyes as though expecting his entire face to explode. Harry would have laughed if they were still friends.

“Episkey.” Snape said firmly. Ron’s nose gave a sickening crack and straightened out. Ron yelped in pain. Snape handed Ron the potion and sat in the large chair behind his neat desk.

“50 points for fighting.”  Snape said without preamble, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Each.” Ron let out a little groan and scowled again at Harry.

“Mr. Weasley you may go.” Ron got to his feet, throwing a slightly unsure look at Harry. It seemed, even if they were no longer friends, Ron was unwilling to see Harry eviscerated. Still, he retreated, slamming the dungeon door for good measure.

Snape turned to glower at Harry. Any good will that had developed between them after Harry’s injury had been promptly destroyed throughout their next few Occlumency lessons.  Snape had been attempting to teach Harry to project specific thoughts over his image of the Gryffindor fireplace. The goal of this was to hide the fact that he was Occluding and hopefully prevent Voldemort from bursting into his mind again. Much to Snape’s annoyance, Harry hadn’t been able to do it successfully.

Snape gave a complex flick of his wand and a full tea service burst from the cupboard and settled itself on Snape’s desk. Snape tapped the pot with his wand and Harry could hear the water start to boil.

“Tea?” Snape asked, as a waterfall of sugar cascaded from his wand into a dish beside the kettle.

Harry’s jaw dropped. He was partly expecting to be thrashed. It was one of the few times Snape would have actually been in the right to yell at Harry and now, not only was Snape passing up this opportunity, he was offering beverages. The kettle was steaming. Snape poured out two cups and, to Harry’s amusement, added a significant amount of sugar into his own cup. It was odd to think of Snape having likes and dislikes.

Snape passed Harry the steaming cup. Harry looked at Snape’s impassive face for a moment before slowly reaching out his hand to accept the tea. Snape took a long sip, continuing to observe Harry, who was starting to feel quite uncomfortable.

“It has come to my attention that you have been especially insufferable this week Potter.” Snape said matter-of-factly, setting his tea down on his desk. Harry glowered back at Snape defiantly. Much to his annoyance, Snape seemed relatively unperturbed by this.

“That’s not really any of your concern.” Harry replied with as much dignity as he could.  Snape took another sip of tea and sighed.

“Potter trust me, I have no desire to revel in your teen angst.” There was almost a mocking smile on Snape’s lips. “However when you start punching students, talking back and stop trying to do anything resembling successful Occlumency this, unfortunately, becomes my concern.”

Of all the people Harry would like to talk to about his feelings, Snape ranked at the bottom of the list near Umbridge and Voldemort. Harry was sure that the giant squid would provide a more sympathetic ear. Harry defiantly crossed his arms and looked away. Snape couldn’t make him talk. Apparently deciding that Harry wasn’t going to start the conversation, Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“The level of Occlumency you are attempting to obtain is quite high. As a fifth year student with no exceptional grasp on the magical arts, it is hardly surprising it is taking you more than a week to master it.” Snape said, taking aim at what he thought Harry’s biggest worry was. Harry didn’t know whether to be offended or comforted by Snape’s comment. Even though it came out nicer than most things he said, it was still insulting.

And there it was again, Harry’s lack of an exceptional magical talent. These days it seemed to contrast so vividly with Voldemort’s seemingly endless supply of power.

“Whatever.” Harry said, not meeting Snape’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye he could of sworn he saw Snape smirk.

“As piercing as your wit is Potter, I still need an explanation for your behavior unless you want Gryffindor to lose another 30 points.” Snape replied coolly taking a drink of his tea. Harry snapped his head up, outraged.

“You wouldn’t!”

“We’ve known each other for 5 years now Potter. I dare say you know I would.” Snape replied. It seemed to Harry that he was thoroughly enjoying this. A familiar rage started to boil within Harry’s veins as he looked at the stupid, smirking, pallid face in front of him. The last thing he needed right now was to be picked on by his git of a Potions professor.

Much to Harry’s surprise, the numerous glass jars on Snape’s shelves started to tremble ominously. Snape glanced casually from Harry’s face to the jars. Harry felt as though he was back in the kitchen in Privet Drive with Aunt Marge insulting his parents. He could feel the magical energy in the air but he wasn’t trying to do anything. In fact, he was trying to stop. Snape opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the loud crash of jars from behind Harry. Both Harry and Snape jumped to their feet in surprised. The rest of the jars stopped quivering.

“Are you hurt?” Snape demanded, anger clear in his voice. He swept past Harry to examine the broken jars.

“No, sir.” Harry muttered feeling embarrassed. At 15, he really should be able to control his magic.

Luckily the ingredients Harry spilled everywhere did not seem to be dangerous or valuable as Snape vanished the entire mess with a flick of his wand before rounding on to Harry. Harry looked at the ground, both shamed and scared that Snape was going to make Uncle Vernon’s story about Harry attending St. Brutus’ true.

“Sorry sir.” Harry muttered, kicking his feet against the floor and risking a glance up at Snape whose enraged face seemed to miraculously soften into something slightly less angry.

“Everyone looses control of their magic sometimes.” Snape replied in a measured tone, returning to his seat behind his desk. Harry gaped at him. Harry had seen Snape go from calm to angry for no reason, but never the reverse. That, plus the rare display of accidental magic, was so off-putting that Harry sank back in the chair across from Snape.

“I haven’t” Harry muttered “Not since –“ Harry trailed off thinking of Aunt Marge bumping on the kitchen ceiling like an over-sized balloon. “Not for a long time.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Snape just nodded from across the table. For the first time, Harry had an inexplicable urge to tell Snape about this new, horrible dark presence that seemed to be following him everywhere. Snape knew about Voldemort breaking in to Harry’s head, he knew about the scar and whatever else Dumbledore had told him. If there really was something wrong, Snape might be the only person able to fix it.

“I think I’m turning evil.” Harry blurted out. Snape’s eyebrows raised, seemingly in both surprise and vague amusement, but he gave no other reaction. Hearing it out loud, Harry suddenly felt extremely stupid. Snape was the last person to talk to about this. He’d probably love nothing more than to prove to everyone just how right he was about nasty Harry Potter. Harry stared hard at his lap.

“And why do you think that?” Snape asked. Harry could tell the man was carefully considering his words as he observed Harry with a piercing stare. For the first time, Harry wondered what Snape was like with Slytherin students. He had a wild image of Snape reading a bunch of first years a bedtime story and felt an odd urge to laugh. But Snape had seemed genuinely concerned about Jack after his detention with Umbridge. Harry had seen him slip a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulder to steer him back to the Slytherin dorms when he thought Harry had already rounded the corner.

Harry looked up at Snape who continued to wait patiently for Harry’s response and, for whatever reason, Harry told him. He admitted that he was angry all the time. He explained that his friends all hated him except for Luna, but that she was only sympathetic because she thought Nargles were behind his new attitude (Snape seemed to want to ask what that meant but stopped himself). Before he could reign himself in, he admitted being angry at Dumbledore for abandoning him and being hurt that Sirius seemed to think he wasn’t as brave as his father. Somewhere during his outburst, he let it slip the worst most terrifying part: that he was sure Voldemort was responsible for every last one of these emotions and that it was only going to get worse.

It was more than he wanted to say. Snape hadn’t interrupted him once in the entire 20 minutes and Harry had all but forgotten exactly whom he was talking to. The words had spilled out of him impatiently, without stopping to be censored, as though they had been waiting to leave him for quite a while. Now that it was over, Harry regretted every single one of them. Hermione always went on about the importance of talking, but now Harry knew she was wrong. If Harry felt bad before revealing his feelings to Snape, it was nothing compared to the depths of misery he felt now.

Snape didn’t seem to feel the need to reply to Harry quickly. He simply continued to observe Harry over the top of his teacup as though he was a mildly interesting museum exhibit.

“I don’t think the Dark Lord is responsible for what you are feeling.” Snape said after a while, as though it was the clearest thing in the world. Harry shrugged. That was what everyone said and it didn’t make him feel the least bit reassured.

“I think you are experiencing a reasonable amount of anger at the lack of control you have over your life.” Snape said softly, sipping his tea casually. Harry stared at his knees.  “And I think that you are scared.”

 Harry snapped his head-up and looked Snape in the eyes for the first time since the conversation. Snape calmly returned the stare as if daring him to deny the truth of the statement. Harry didn’t. Snape put his teacup back on the tea service then leaned forward towards Harry.

“You face an uncommonly heavy burden, especially for someone your age. At the same time, you don’t have the ability to make decisions…Dumbledore, the Dark Lord and the Order do, which makes you somewhat like a pawn in a giant chess game. I’d be surprised if you don’t feel scared and powerless.” Snape said simply, as though he was explaining a basic potion to a student he liked much more than Harry.

Harry looked down at his hands and squeezed them tight to stop from shaking. He couldn’t bare to look up at Snape even though he could feel the man’s eyes on him, not after he hit the nail on the head so completely.

“Dumbledore is not playing chess with you Potter.” Snape continued, a little more hesitant. “He doesn’t see lives and happiness as things to be sacrificed for the greater good. He is trying to protect you and give you some semblance of your childhood.”

Harry felt stunned. It was the most words Snape had ever said to him at one time. Much more shocking was that the words made Harry feel understood, something even his closest friends hadn’t been able to accomplish. An accusing voice reminded him that he hadn’t shared nearly as much information with his friends as he had with Snape. The thought almost made Harry laugh then made him feel sad and alone all over again.

Harry looked up at Snape who was no longer looking at Harry. He was resting his lips on his long-fingers, looking somewhere past Harry, deep in thought.

“Feeling powerless, scared and alone has made many people angry, cruel, even evil.” Snape said finally, turning back to Harry. His lips seem to twist over the words as if they were physically painful to speak. “I would advise you to avoid that path.” 

There was a deadly seriousness in Snape’s eyes. It was the first time Harry had seen those eyes willingly show any emotion but anger or contempt. Harry briefly thought about the Dark Mark seared on the man’s arm.

“Then what do I do, sir?” Harry asked quietly. He felt less embarrassed now, as though Snape had just shared enough of himself to make the conversation bearable.

“All my friends already hate me.” Harry muttered, more to himself than Snape. Snape gave a Harry a look that suggested the only reason he wasn’t rolling his eyes was because of years spent increasing his powers of self-control.

“Potter, when you were ill I had no less than 9 visits to my personal quarters from Mr. Weasley who seemed to be convinced I was set on killing you. If you don’t think I know that Ms. Granger spends half her nights correcting your abysmal Potions work you seriously underestimate my intelligence. Mr. Longbottom would willingly stand in traffic for you. As for Mr. McMillan and Miss Weasley, I am sure they harbor the same vomit-inducing loyalty the others do.”

Harry tried to resist the urge to smile both at the slight warm feeling that entered his chest at Snape’s words and the fact that Snape was quite sassy when he wasn’t spewing vitriol or glaring ominously. Snape returned Harry’s smile with the slight upturn of his thin lips before turning serious again.

“I think you’ll find, if you don’t feel alone, fear and helplessness have a lot less power.” Snape said thoughtfully.

Harry thinking of all the people in his life who had come through for him in his life: Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ernie, the Twins, Luna, Sirius, Dumbledore, and now, apparently Snape. Eager to apologize and resolved to be a more open, caring friend, Harry stood to leave the dungeons.

“You’re right, sir. I’ve been a complete ass –“ Harry stopped dead in the middle of his sentence. Snape was gripping his left arm and gritting his teeth in an effort to keep from calling out. His black eyes met Harry’s and they stared at each other, the air thick with tension.

The pain in Snape’s arm passed, he broke eye contact stood up and wordlessly smoothed down his robes. Harry noted that Snape’s face had whitened so much it looked almost translucent.

“Professor?” Harry said tentatively. Snape stopped at the doorframe. Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say or why he had called out in the first place.

“There will be no Occlumency lessons tonight.” Severus said shortly without turning back to face Harry. “I suggest you use the time to prepare for your Potions OWL. At this rate, you’ll be lucky to polish an Auror’s wand.”

Snape swept out into the hallway, more bat-like and menacing than ever. Harry barely encoded the barb to his potions work and, with shaking hands, moved to clean up the tea service that seemed to have been used hours ago.